We cross a field, hike through a small wooded area and suddenly find ourselves at Phillips Junction. What a welcome site. A well-used, dusty jeep trail runs in front of this back-country oasis, leaving little doubt this is a popular destination.

One side of the PJ cabin is a trading post, where crews can buy and mail postcards, load-up with a respectable assortment of cookies, chips and candies, and re-equip themselves with clothing and other items for the trail.

The other side of the building belongs to the quartermaster, and this is where crews pick up new supplies of food. Richard and a couple of helpers head for the quartermaster's area while other crew members are turned loose to visit the trading post.

To obtain our new food packages, Richard first must present the itinerary sheet for the quartermaster's inspection and signature. Then, a major logistical decision has to be made. This is our only back-country resupply, so, theoretically, we should be collecting six days' worth of food, or a total of 72 packages.

Fortunately, we won't have to do that. We will pass PJ again tomorrow when we retrace our steps from Beaubien and head out toward Apache Springs. So, let's see. Is that one day's supply today and five tomorrow? No, the quartermaster has a different suggestion. He recommends that we pick up a 1-day supply today and a 1-day supply tomorrow. The following day, when we will have looped around down to Fish Camp, we can send a crew back up here for the rest of it. It's an easy, four-mile hike from Fish Camp, he says. So that's the course Richard decides to follow.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hand, whose shoulder has been bothering him, has gotten one of the rangers here to call the health lodge by two-way radio and get some advice on treating his shoulder and Ruben's ankle. Ruben's ankle is showing distinct swelling now, even though he insists he can walk on it.

The health lodge medics recommend aspirin for Mr. Hand and advise Ruben to continue on the trail to Beaubien if he feels up to it, but to report back tomorrow when we return to PJ if the symptoms persist. We acquire a supply of Ace bandages at PJ just to have on hand. For some reason, that seemed to be about the only First Aid item we didn't have with us on the trek.

PJ had been crowded when we arrived. Four, perhaps five crews all had converged on the back-country station at about the same time. Now, 30 or 40 minutes later, the crowds are thinning out, crews heading this way and that on their individual itineraries. Keeping an eye on the time, we think we'd better get moving, too. We've got to get to Beaubien and settle in fairly quickly in order to make our 1 p.m. horse ride.

Before we leave, however, something must be settled: just how heavy are these backpacks. A scale is hanging from the rafters on the PJ porch, and there is a hook on the end of it that nicely accommodates backpack frames. So, up they go. The verdict? About 50 pounds. Each. Somehow, though, there were times they seemed even heavier than that.

The rather narrow trail to Beaubien climbs about 400 feet up the side of a hill and at times overlooks the rocky gorge below. There are places on the trail where the tree cover is light or nonexistent, and passing through one such place we realize the sun now has broken through the cloud cover and it has grown hot. Still, we are making good time today. Our pace is quickening as our legs become stronger, and we are requiring fewer rest stops. We do take one brief pause during the ascent and during this time we encounter a crew from Alabama heading down to PJ. It's Dixie week here on the Beaubien trail.

Up again we go until we top out in a wooded area, and then it's just a short walk until the foot trail merges with the jeep trail which has taken a more circuitous route up the mountain from PJ. We pick our way across a cattle grate and at last the camp comes into view.

Beautiful Beaubien! Its wide green meadows and fields are ringed by Engelman Spruce shaped like dark, green Christmas trees. Soaring mountains form a magnificent backdrop while cows graze in the meadows and calmly ignore the Scouts moving around them.

This campsite was a hit with last year's crew, which made an unscheduled stop here for showers en route to Buck Creek from Black Mountain. We check in with the rangers, who offer us a friendly cup of Gatorade, but we learn we'll have to do without showers here this year because there's been some sort of plumbing problem.

After examining our itinerary sheet, the ranger leads us through the cow-filled meadow, picking his steps carefully for obvious reasons. Uphill, across several intersecting foot trail and through a sprawling tent city we go. Beaubien, it seems, is one of Philmont's larger staffed camps.

Soon, however, the ranger is pointing out our camp site and we quickly settle in. We know several other Atlanta Area Council troops are somewhere in the vicinity. We saw Tom Carter while we are at PJ and know he's camped up here. He's not here just now but we expect to see him during the campfire later this evening.

After setting up tents, we quickly put on the long pants required for horse rides and hustle back down to the meadow. We reach the stables right at 1 p.m.

Although we are among the first here, we'll soon be joined by several other crews. Already present are a couple of Philmont staffers who are seeing the sights on their day off. That's not unusual, we will find. The folks who come to Philmont for a summer's work aren't drawn by the pay. There's something more. For many, it's the love of the land, the challenge and the camaraderie that draws them to this remote corner of New Mexico. So when they get time off, many of them spend it on the ranch. A person could do far worse.

As directed by the head wrangler, we step into the corral and take up positions by fence posts. Several assistant wranglers then go to a separate enclosure and bring horses out one-by-one to the riders.

They are fine-looking animals and it is obvious they are cared for well. They are, of course, accustomed to carrying riders by now, but some, we are told, still have a streak of wild. They are released from the corrals at night to graze in the fields and are rounded up again the next morning.

When camping season is over, they are released again for a while, then rounded up again and taken to lower elevations for the winter. All bear the Philmont horse brand. There also is a Philmont cattle brand.

The first order of business for the riders is to take the loose ends of the reins and tie them together in an overhand knot behind the horse's head. Next, each rider must check the length of the stirrup. We are told it should be the same length as the rider's arm, measured from shoulder to finger tips. After a check to see if the cinch strap underneath is good and secure, we are ready to mount when given the order by the wrangler.

When the signal is given, we put the left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn, bounce with the right leg and swing up into the saddle. A piece of cake.

When the wrangler opens the gate, the horses take charge of the show. All we've got to do is stay in the saddle and go with the flow. The horses crowd the gate like kids waiting for recess at school, and jockey for position. We have been told this is typical horses behavior. Like people, they have their likes and dislikes, and some of them have strong preferences about the horses they want to follow - or not follow.

Once out of the corral, the wrangler strings us out into the single-file line he intends to maintain on this expedition. He positions himself in the lead, but has several out-riders who ride up and down the line to watch for potential problems.

The first part of the ride takes us through a lush meadow in the lower portion of the Bonita Valley, paralleling a jeep trail for a while. The sky has grown overcast again and many of us wore raingear as a precaution. But even though it is overcast, the day is hot and it would be a little more comfortable if we could shed some of these extra clothes. However, the wrangler told us we can't take anything off once we're in the saddle because the motion could spook the horses.

On we go down the meadow, attempting to adjust to the up-and-down, side-to-side movements of our mounts. We pass a crew hiking up the jeep trail toward Beaubien, then we let our horses move onto the jeep trail and follow it for a bit.

Riders have virtually no work to do as far as steering goes. Our horses simply follow the animal in front. Sometimes it seems they are following almost too close and will surely collide with one another in case of a sudden stop. Somehow, that never happens.

We turn off the jeep trail now and head straight up a foot path that would seem a tough pull for backpackers, let alone horses with riders. But our mounts stretch their powerful muscles against the incline and we find ourselves leaning forward in the saddle to keep from being thrown backwards.

The trail follows a rocky ravine which narrows somewhat and then becomes slick and muddy. We can hear the hooves of horses ahead of us slipping in the muck, and feel our mounts stumble as they fight for more secure footholds. Then there is a kind of muffled yelp from somewhere up the line and seconds later a riderless horses comes running past us down the trail with a wrangler in hot pursuit. The animal has thrown his rider but soon is caught and calmed and returned to the line. The rider is unhurt.

Photo at left: Chip astride his mount, "Eagle"

On we go, still working to make sure our seats go up when the horse's back goes up. The best way we have found to stay in synch with the horse's movements is to grip the horse's sides somewhat tightly with our legs.

Finally, we top out on a jeep trail girdling the slopes above Black Mountain Camp. The ride is more comfortable now because of the more level terrain, and we're getting some excellent views. Without warning, the horses break into a trot here, and the surprise acceleration pushes us back in our saddles. We tug on the reins and squeeze the animals even more tightly with our legs. They slow and return to a normal gait. A quick look around shows everyone is still in the saddle.

So far, so good. But how are the wranglers going to get us down from this elevation? Surely not the same way? The trail was steep enough coming up, let alone going down. That question gets asked and the wranglers tell us they will take us down a parallel trail that isn't quite so steep.

As we round a turn, one Scout ahead of us dismounts the hard way. His saddle slipped sidewise and dumped him to the ground. Ouch! He's unhurt, however, and the problem is quickly fixed, and we are soon moving forward again.

The wranglers have fibbed. Indeed, they are taking us back to Beaubien by a different trail but it is just as steep as the one we came up. Having followed this very trail to Beaubien last year, we veterans know! There are a few switchbacks but generally it is a sharp descent through a deep cleft in the mountainside. And once again the horses want to try to break into a trot for some reason. Again, we have to fight to rein them in. The closer we get to Beaubien, the more they seem to want to speed up.

At last we reach the jeep trail just where it makes a sweeping, horseshoe bend. We know just where we are. Beaubien is just up the road. And, indeed, a few minutes later we are back at the corral.

We dismount on wobbly legs and unsaddle and unbridle the horses. Then we carry the gear to the tack room and wobble back across the meadow and up to the campsite for a long-delayed lunch. It's a little after 4 p.m. now. We've had a good 2-1/2 hours on the horses.

After lunch, some of the crew members head out hopefully for the branding area adjacent to the stables. There, beside a hot fire, a ranger has branding irons for crews to use in applying either the Philmont horse brand or the cattle brand to anything and everything. Typically, members of a Philmont crew want to brand at least their boots. Some also want to brand their caps, but this can be risky as some of the material melts easily under heat.

But it is about 5 p.m. when the crew arrives at the branding spot and the ranger is closing down for the day. This is a considerable disappointment, since we'd been looking forward to returning home with these prestigious symbols on our gear as souvenirs.

Meanwhile, it now is time to think about the collective supper we will be enjoying tonight. Each crew in camp has been instructed to designate two of its members as cooks for the meal and send them to the cooking pavilion at the stated hour. Our cooks for tonight are Mitch and Thomas.

While the cooks organize and engage in various chores, there is absolutely nothing else going on in camp. So obviously it is time to socialize.

The crew advisors tend to congregate up at the cabin, where real coffee is being made available and eagerly consumed.

The Scouts tend to congregate near the site of the cooking activity. Some play horseshoes while keeping an eye on the progress of the meal. Others toss frisbees.

After a while, it seems that dinner really should be ready by now, so the advisors saunter on over to the pavilion, too. But, of course, the watched pot never boils, as the old saying goes. So we all just sit around on logs and watch the cooks do their thing.

At last, dinner is declared to be ready. After reciting the Philmont Grace, we line up to be issued some really excellent beef stew and then afterwards peach cobbler.

After a wonderfully filling dinner, each crew then is asked to leave two clean-up persons behind. Geoffrey and Ruben draw this duty. Clean-up turns out to be a major task, mainly because of the sticky, gooey residue from the cobbler in the Dutch ovens. Meanwhile, other crew members are given time to return to the campsite to fetch raingear and flashlights for tonight's dinner.

Drizzle has set in now, raising fears there may not be a campfire. That would be a pity because campfires at Philmont's western lore camps are something really special. Fortunately, the show is able to go on.

A deep, wet and chilly dusk settles over Beaubien as we make our way to the campfire arena. Our clean-up Scouts are detained by their chores, but manage to join us for the last half of the program.

Tall tales and toe-tapping songs fill the air for the next hour or so. One young staffer, spinning a yarn, amuses us by repeatedly using the phrase "snicker-snack" to describe anything that is really top-notch.

One of the best of the night's songs is the "Night Rider's Lament," which also is sung at Clark's Fork, the western lore camp for Philmont's Central Country. The words tell of a cowboy whose friends wonder he's chosen that life, considering that "you ain't getting nowhere and you're losing your share; boy, you must've gone crazy out there."

In the song, he replies, "But they've never seen the Northern Lights. They've never seen a hawk on the wing. They've never seen spring at the Great Divide, and they've never heard old camp cookie sings."

The song strikes a responsive chord with us. We suspect some of our friends may wonder why we come out here to lug heavy backpacks across the mountains or to sleep in tents in the rain. We could tell them they'd never seen deep green valleys and snow-capped peaks from the boulder field at the summit of a sky-high mountain in New Mexico, or slept beside a mountain brook after a hard day of fighting mountain grades. The watches and television programs and telephones that rule our lives mean nothing out here. Maybe everyone should have a chance to "go crazy" like this every now and then.

The campfire closes with the Philmont Hymn, haunting out here and so much more meaningful now that we've tramped those aspen-covered hills and experienced the wind in whisp'ring pines. We hike back up the hill to our tents and hit the sack.